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Title: Sinful Fruit
Author: Venom_69
Category: romance, smut
Pairing: Janeway/Chakotay
Rating: NC-17
Archive:
anywhere.
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, never will. Promise to put them back in the state I found them. Song isn’t
mine either.
Author’s notes: Took me long enough.
Feedback: Please.
Dedication: As always, for LEW. Written
for Dani, because she asked.
Date: 03/01/05
Copyright © to Venom, 2003
***
You can’t tell me it’s
not worth trying for
I can’t help it, there’s nothing I want more
***
You want to tell him to
stop as his lips find your neck, a hand on your breast. You want to remind him about protocol, about the crew, about what
you’re all trying to achieve, but your traitorous mouth will produce nothing more than a moan as his talented finger
tweaks a nipple.
Damn you.
Damn him.
Damn the ship, the crew, the delta quadrant.
Damn it all.
You know, without a doubt, that if you tell him to stop, he will. He’d do it without hesitation, without blinking,
because that’s the kind of man he is. You know, if you weren’t responding to his touch, that he wouldn’t
be pulling at the zipper of your uniform jacket.
But your mutinous mouth won’t say no, and your body can’t
help but respond.
He shifts a little, pushing you back further on the couch and you involuntarily spread your legs
to cradle him into your thighs. God, it doesn’t get any better than this.
Distantly, you hear something crash
to the floor, and you suspect that your boot has made contact with your forgotten dinner and it has landed his carpet. That’s
why you were in his quarters in the first place; dinner.
After everything that happened during your three-month maroon
on New Earth, and then the fiasco with Seska and the Kazon, neither of you had been able to spend much time together. You’d
invited him for dinner, and he agreed under the provision that he could cook.
Dinner had been forgotten as you talked.
Really talked. When the topic turned to his ‘son’ you moved a bit closer to him on the lounge. When conversation
moved to Seska, you hugged him. And then he kissed you, and it all went wrong from there.
Your hands, which you are
now convinced are no longer attached to your mind in any way, shape or form, are pawing at his own clothes, desperate to get
them the hell out of your way.
You saw him topless a few times on New Earth, beads of sweat forming on his glorious
body, and you always had the overwhelming urge to run your tongue along his pecks. And, even though you think this is horrifically
wrong, you plan to do it as soon as you can get his shirt off.
You jacket is pulled away and thrown somewhere over
his shoulder. He makes something akin to a frustrated growl trying to get your turtleneck off. It only take a few moments
for him to tire of the useless garment, and you hear it rip as his fingers tear it from your waist up.
Time seems
to stand still for a long minute as he stares at your heaving chest. Normally, you’d be shy and self-conscious under
such scrutiny, but with him, all you can do is lie there and bask in his attention.
He seems to pull himself out of
whatever breast-induces stupor he was in. A mouth latches on to a nipple through your bra, a hand reaches for the fastening
of your pants, and an Un-Captain like whimper is issued from your throat.
God, this is so wrong.
***
Waking
up, you’re more disorientated than normal.
Like the three little bears, you can feel that this bed isn’t
right. The pillow smells far too masculine to be yours, and probably the most disconcerting fact of all, is that you’re
naked under the thin sheet that covers you.
You shift a little, but you discover that you’re trapped under the
weight of someone else’s arm. A hand is resting on your stomach, keeping you pinned to a large body that you can feel
behind you.
Shit, how much did you have to drink last night?
Did you have anything to drink at all?
There’s
a sticky wetness between your legs and on your thighs that tells you exactly what you were up to last night. Your tender muscles
support that theory. Groaning, you wriggle around enough to untangle yourself from the man behind you. Unfortunately, you
know exactly who owns the warm body that was surrounding you, but you can’t bear to look.
Coffee.
You
can’t face him without coffee, so you slip from the bed and throw on the first thing you can find. One of his shirts,
the one from New Earth that he knew you loved.
Walking to the Replicator, you order a black coffee and find that your
voice is hoarse. You have an ominous feeling that you screamed at some point last night, and a blush rises to your cheeks
at the thought.
You have to get out of here. It’s your only thought as you run around his quarters looking for
your clothes. Your gray turtleneck is in shambles, as are your panties, but the rest seems to be salvageable.
Even
so, you know that you are *never* going to wear this uniform again. You’ll keep it, but you wont wear it.
You
struggle into your clothes, and flee from his quarters.
God, what have you done?
***
It’s only
when your bra is finally gone, your boots, socks and pants going with it, that you manage to stop him long enough to get his
top off. His skin his hot as you run your hands over it, his golden skin delicately flushed with arousal, and every protest
that you had against this seems to have flown out of the airlock.
He grins at you when a whimper is issued from your
mouth at your own incompetence. You can’t get it damn pants off. Finally putting you out of your misery, and his fingers
join yours to pull the zip down and tug him out of them.
You stop breathing.
He’s gorgeous, he’s
magnificent, he’s huge, and he’s…. Never going to fit inside of you.
“I will.” He always
could read your mind. Damn Indian. Damn him, his mother, his father, his sister, his family dog, the man that served him his
first drink in a bar. Damn them all.
They all contributed to making him the man that he is now. And you love that
man, but you’re not allowed to so damn them all.
He leans down, kisses you again, slips two fingers inside of
you and you can’t remember what the hell you were thinking. The only part of his body that’s moving is his lips,
he’s letting you get accustom to part of him in part of you. He’s being gentle, considerate, thoughtful, him.
Damn
him.
Tears prick at your eyes, the emotions racing through you are too overwhelming. You want him inside of you, now.
He knows it too, and he agrees, removing his fingers and slipping inside of you in one pleasurable, if slightly painful, thrust.
You
scream.
***
You don’t even bother to check if the corridor is empty or not as you slip out of the darkened
room that harbors the memory of your sin. You should care that there are three Ensigns that see you on the short walk from
his to your quarters, but you don’t.
Slipping into your own room, you cast a quick glance at the bulkhead that
keeps him from your eyes. You imagine him in there, lying alone, naked. Will he wake and wonder where you are? Worry for you?
Or will he know why you slipped out before you two had to face each other?
And now, has he moved into the warm spot
that you left, breathing in your scent as he sleeps? Or has he rolled onto his back and continues the peaceful oblivion that
you left him in?
Coward, your brain torments.
Ignoring the lingering doubts that plague you, you move into
your bathroom and strip off the recently donned clothes. You see, in the mirror, the marks that he left on your body. A small
bite mark on your neck, one on your nipple. You have his skin under your nails from scratching him.
Damnit.
You
can’t stop thinking about it, so you activate the sonic shower and try in vain to scrub his memory from your body.
***
He’s
slow, moving inside of you while still delaying the inevitable. You want to scream. Damn him. He’s not supposed to be
so good at this.
If he were bad, then you could walk away when it was over. Walk away and pretend like your world didn’t
move when he slipped inside of you, pretend that you didn’t scream, pretend that you’re not clawing his back because
he is. Just. That. good.
Damn him.
Your legs are wrapped tightly around his waist, holding him to you as he
move at his own place, drawing our your pleasure in slow, measured thrusts. Your hips rise to meet him, urging him to go faster
as he grins at you. Damn him.
One of his hands snakes between your thrusting bodies to flick at your clit, while his
mouth latches on to your neck to suckle. It’s enough to send you careening over the edge in a tidal wave of emotion.
Blinding you for a second, you hear someone scream and know that it was you.
His mouth tears from your neck and he
moans a few thrusts later, coming inside of you in a delicious wave of hear before collapsing on top of you. You are both
breathing heavily, but neither of you make any effort to move. It’s too good, being here with him like this as you bask
in the afterglow of the forbidden fruit.
“We should move.” He says after a moment, his breath coming out
in pants against your neck. He slips out of you, and you whimper at the loss as he stands.
“Bed.” You mutter.
Your brain is mush. You suspect that it melted out of your ear and is dripping onto his carpet, but you don’t think
about it as he picks you up and carries you to his bed.
“Sleep,” he tells you quietly, slipping into the
bed behind you to hold you to him. Your body is already obeying his command, sleep claiming you.
***
The next
time you see him, you are sitting in your command chair on the bridge.
He doesn’t smile at you, doesn’t
grin, wink or otherwise acknowledge that he spent the night fucking your brains out. He just calmly sits down in his chair
and says a quiet “Good morning.”
“Commander.” You nod.
Part of you is shocked that
he hasn’t tried to fight you about your disappearing act this morning. Part of you knows that he wont do anything in
front of the senior staff. He wont jeopardize his, or your, reputations. And you just know that Paris is listening from the
helm, hoping to have some kind of conclusive evidence about the status of your relationship for the betting pool.
The
console between your chairs beeps lightly, signaling a new message. He doesn’t appear to be inclined to look at it,
so you do, reading over the sentence carefully.
‘I wont let you run from us.’
Unconsciously your
eyes look from the console to his face. His features are controlled, giving nothing away. But there is a twinkle in his eye
that your recognize.
You smile.
***
Finito.
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